Hindsight
by jamzsquared
Summary: Vivienne Cousland makes her final journey into the Deep Roads and recounts her most cherished memories.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **All wardens have to face the Calling sooner or later, and Vivienne Cousland, hero of Ferelden and Queen-Consort to King Alistair is no exception. "Hindsight" recounts Vivienne's final moments within the Deep Roads, and is told in a series of her most treasured memories. Ratings and warnings will be posted for each chapter, and will range from T M

And, of course, the obligatory disclaimer: BioWare owns everything; I just play around with their creations.

**Chapter One**

A face full of darkspawn spit was hardly a winning way for the start the morning, especially one's last morning alive. Equally disagreeable was the putrid stench of rotting darkspawn corpse, but, as a Grey Warden, one learned to get used to such things.

Vivienne's eyes stung in spite of her fully lowered helm, sweat rolling in rivulets over her forehead, running in streams down her cheeks like tears as she slashed and hacked and ripped through the crowd of filthy brutes surrounding her. They were drawn by her presence like locusts to the field, but one by one she eliminated them until there were only a handful left.

There were four clustered around her, their bodies pressing oppressively close as they tried to flank her, but their efforts were in vain. She crouched low behind the protective barrier of her shield, her sword arm swinging in expert arcs and parries. Her shoulder ached with the effort, each blow shaking her to the bone.

The hurlock to her right held his rusty blade aloft, leaning in close enough for her to smell his rank breath; his head was taken clean from his shoulders before he even had a chance to blink. The severed head went rolling carelessly down the dark tunnel, and his body fell into the genlock standing beside him, giving Vivienne an opening to strike her longsword through his chest. She pulled the weapon free in a shower of blood and repeated the steps with the remaining two: stab, slash, chop, again and again until they had fallen.

It was a long moment before the berserker rage cleared from her eyes and she realized with a mixture of regret and relief that she was alone, standing amongst the bodies of two dozen slain darkspawn. She had earned herself a reprieve of a few minutes from inevitable death; whether it was a blessing or a curse, she couldn't be sure.

Staggering away from the pile of bodies, she crouched down on a dusty, discarded crate, and pulled the helm from her head. She could be ambushed at any moment and the helm was a crucial defense, but she had come to the Deep Roads to die. Whether that moment came with or the helm's protection seemed the least of her worries.

She opened her small leather pack and peered within. She had emptied it of bandages and health poultices before venturing into the Roads, wanting nothing that could tempt her to prolonging her life longer than necessary. Her death, she hoped, would be swift rather than an agonizingly drawn-out affair, but she couldn't deny herself a little water and a small loaf of bread, enough to last a day. She took a greedy sip from the waterskin, wetting her chapped lips eagerly, moistening her parched tongue and throat.

"If I'm so eager to die," she murmured wryly, her voice hoarse in the dusty air, "then why does it seem so hard to let go?"

There was no response in the oppressive silence of the caverns, tucked away deep from all civilized life. With a sigh, she stowed the skin in her pack and ran a hand through her limp bedraggled locks, short-shorn and flecked with gray. Her hair had once been her glory, a lustrous mane of midnight silk that cascaded well to her waist when not bound back in an intricate crown of braids. She had only worn it short one other time in her life, during the turbulent period of the Blight. She cut it herself in a fit of misery and raging the night her family had been murdered by Arl Howe. Then, her hair had been a reminder of her thirst for vengeance, her grief for all that she had lost, her single-minded purpose to do what she could to end the Blight and bring Howe to justice. She had kept it short throughout the campaign to save Ferelden, and later during her time as Commander of the Grey; it had been easier to manage that way, a way for her to focus whole-heartedly on her duties and responsibilities. It had been especially hard justify feminine fripperies during those years. It was only when she realized that she was pregnant and returned to court that she began to grow it again.

Her heart ached with a pang as she remembered her twin babes tugging merrily at her locks, grown to shoulder-length during her pregnancy, gurgling happily as they nursed at her breast, and her lips quirked in a small smile as she recalled how her daughter Rhianwyn had spent the morning of her fifth nameday weaving ribbons into her mother's hair, now long enough to reach the small of her back. Nothing, though, could compare to the ache that clenched her chest when she thought of Alistair, eyes gentle with love, gathering the mane in his hands as he drew her close for a kiss.

As a Grey Warden, everyone had told her that it would be impossible for her to get pregnant; that impossibility was doubled by the fact that Alistair was also a Warden. Still, five years after their marriage her monthly bleeding had stopped and her stomach began to grow, swelling with not one but two babies. No one, not even Wynne, could explain how or why, but she had cherished the gift, even when the complications threatened her life and the babies'. Somehow, by the Maker's blessing, she gave birth to a healthy set of twins. Ronan, the eldest by three minutes, would inherit his father's throne, securing the Theirin kingship and peace in Ferelden for at least another generation.

Vivienne's eyes watered with tears as she thought of the family she was never supposed to have, and she fought hard to swallow over the lump in her throat. Life had held so many blessings for her, had granted her so many beautiful gifts that made the pain and loss she experienced pale in comparison. How could she leave it?

She had struggled against memory and remembrance in the weeks before her departure for Orzammar, focusing her mind instead on the necessary preparations, readying her final will, making provisions for the dispensation of her wealth and lands, writing the letters to her closest friends and comrades that would not be sent out until after her disappearance was discovered. If anyone thought her behavior strange, they hadn't confronted her about it, and for that she was grateful. She had thought that it would make this last battle easier to bear, so much so that she hadn't even been able to stand the thought of saying a final goodbye to Alistair. Instead, she slipped from their bed in the dead of night, leaving only a note and a dried, perfectly preserved rose behind her.

She had planned to die within her first plunge into the fray that awaited in the Deep Roads, but she should have known herself better. For all her strengths, Vivienne was stubborn, obstinate and persistent. She would not relinquish life easily. There was only one option left to her: fight, and until she found her death, remember all that had come before this moment.

With a final dispassionate glance at the scene of carnage behind her, she stood, shouldered her pack, and replaced her helm. When she met the next band of darkspawn she would kill them, and the next, and the next until they overwhelmed her.

Her heavy chainmail boots crunched on the gravel as she continued through the narrow tunnels. With resolute steps, she marched to find an end befitting a Grey Warden.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

-ooo-

The Roads were quietly, eerily so, and though Vivienne kept a wary eye about her, she was grateful for the reprieve. She had stumbled upon a small cache, like so many that had been abandoned within crumbling thaigs by dwarves forced to flee the darkspawn, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her. A small smile curved over her face when she saw the smooth-carved stone figurine within. It was shaped like a rudimentary dragon, no doubt carved by some dwarven artisan, capturing in stone one of the terrifying creatures that gave name to the Ninth Age.

She given Alistair as figurine like this, she remembered. Though templar-trained and Chantry-reared, he had a deep fascination with the mysteries that he was taught to regulate and control. Statuettes of strange creatures and runestones made his eyes light up with excitement. She could almost hear his voice now, filled with wonderment. _"Is that for me? Wow… thanks!"_

She grasped it tightly in her hand like a talisman. The more she thought of him, the less it hurt to leave him.

-ooo-

_30 Years Earlier…_

The darkspawn attack had come in the night; the only warning had been the screeching of the Archdemon that plagued the Wardens' dreams. Though the Wardens and their companions had been ill-prepared, emerging from tents and bedrolls to find their camp overrun by darkspawn, the battle had been swift, but it left everyone with heavy hearts and the unsettling knowledge that they would never be truly safe again. They disposed of the bodies quickly, all the while wary of further attacks. When none came, they returned to bed, hoping to claim a few final hours of sleep before the morning march to Orzammar. Only Alistair and Vivienne remained awake, volunteering to keep watch for the remainder of the night so that they could discuss strategy. Vivienne's faithful hound, Princess, prowled the perimeters of the camp, ears pricked up for any future disturbance. Beneath the twinkling stars, in the deceptive serenity of the night, the two Wardens sat alone, silently contemplating the challenges that waited.

Alistair wore the expression that had characterized his features since he had been so crushingly rejected by Goldanna during their last visit to Denerim: contemplative, somber, and grim. Vivienne hugged her knees to her chest, huddling deeper into the scant warmth provided by her threadbare cloak. Sleep would be elusive, especially with the nightmares, but she wished that she could bury herself within the snug cocoon of her bedroll and try to forget the attack, even for a moment. She was bone-weary and exhausted; escape was something she desperately craved but knew she would never have.

"We'll have to be more vigilant," Alistair said at last, breaking the silence. "The enemy knows that we exist, can find us even when we sleep." He shook his head darkly. "I fear the end is approaching faster than we can hope to meet it."

"We have time." Vivienne was staunch in her optimism. It had been her sole defense since awakening after the slaughter at Ostagar, the only security that had carried her forward after her family's murder at the hands of Arl Howe. "We have earned the trust of the Dalish, restored the Circle, found the ashes of Andraste and cured Arl Eamon. If we can only reach Orzammar and bend the ear of the king, we can end the civil war and rally Ferelden against the Archdemon."

"Perhaps," he said dubiously. "The rumors that we've heard of the political situation in Orzammar are… less than promising."

"We have to _try_, Alistair," she insisted, dark brows drawn together decisively. "If we don't… Oh, gods, Alistair, if we fail…" She shuddered, thinking of the possibilities.

"If we fail, Loghain wins and Ferelden will fall to darkspawn," he finished grimly, startling the young woman with his uncharacteristic bleakness. He met her gaze, however, and his face softened. "Don't worry, Vivienne. We'll find a way."

"To do the impossible?" The corner of her mouth curved upwards in an imitation of a lopsided grin, but it was enough to diffuse the tension. Alistair smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"We're Wardens; it's what we do. 'The duty that cannot be forsworn,' and all that, " His blue eyes lingered on her face and Vivienne swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. Neither of them was dressed in the armor; with the unexpectedness of the attack, they had barely time to throw on tunics and woolen tights. Now as she sat beside Alistair in the darkness, Vivienne was more aware than ever of his closeness and proximity, of the warmth that emanated from his large, brawny frame. She was tall for a woman, but still the golden-haired templar towered over her. She had never felt intimidated by him before, his youthful, boyish enthusiasm and indecisiveness giving her a certain power over him, but in that moment, she was conscious of his physical power in a whole new way.

Alistair felt the shift in the air just as she did, and as she waited with baited breath Vivienne watched as his eyes darkened with desire. Without warning, Alistair leaned in and kissed her, claiming her mouth boldly. Her gasp was stifled, and though she resisted he was tenacious in his pursuit, his tongue seeking hers with an eagerness that surprised her. When his hands wrapped around her waist, she leaned it at last, needing to lose herself in his warmth, his scent, his taste, to forget the danger and cold and fear all around her. Groaning, she tangled her fingers into his thick hair and pulled him close, kissing him hungrily. In the end, he was the one who pulled back, swallowing hard as he regarded her in the firelight. His hands trembled as he cupped her face gently.

"Vivienne…"

She twisted away from him sharply, anger flaring at the hesitance in his voice. He was doing it again, giving her the same mixed signals he had displayed for weeks ever since he had given her that blasted rose. He had compared her to the blossom, his words startlingly sweet, but just when Vivienne had thought that perhaps their relationship would take a turn to something _deeper_ than mere friendship, he grew distant again, embarrassed with his own feelings and desires, incapable of more than red-faced mumbles for days afterwards. They fell into a familiar but infuriating cycle, flirting playfully and bantering around the campfire, all the while circling ever close to the proverbial elephant in the room. This kiss, however, was more than she could bear. He had crossed the line.

"Why did you kiss me?" Her voice was hoarse and much to her dismay, her hands trembled. She tightened them into fists and held them in her lap, willing herself to retain some semblance of control even as she fought the urge to pull him back towards her and force him to finish what he started. "What's your excuse this time?"

"I – I don't know." He looked abashed, hanging his head in dismay. "That is, I mean – " He struggled to string together an explanation but she interrupted him before he could.

"Do you regret it?"

Alistair looked up sharply at her words and shook his head emphatically. "No! Andraste's sodden knickers, no, not in a million years!"

"Then why do you keep pulling away?" she demanded, tears unexpectedly filling her eyes. "We don't have _time _to play like this, Alistair! We don't know which day is going to be our last."

"That's what I'm afraid of." His voice was quiet and she had to strain to hear his words. "I'm scared that I'll fall in love with you only to lose you in the end… and yet I'm terrified of what will happen if we _don't_ try."

He paused, took a breath, rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself. "I've thought about what you told me in Denerim, what you said after we saw Goldanna. I _know _I need to start making my own decisions. I know that people are only out for themselves and that I need to stop being so bloody unsure all of the time."

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "I care about you, Vivienne," he burst out at last, "so deeply that it makes my heart – and certain other parts of me – ache in ways that you wouldn't believe."

His words cooled her anger, filled with more honesty than he had offered in weeks, and the image of Alistair's _other_ aching bits were sufficient to remind her of the passion that simmered below the surface, of the need that threatened to break through and overwhelm them once more.

"I've never known a woman's touch," he continued on, "but I'm tired of being scared of what I don't know. I want you, Vivienne. You're right – we can't wait." His gaze was pleading, naked with need and desire, and she forced herself to breathe as he leaned in close to rest his forehead against hers. "Come with me to my tent."

She started in surprise at this. "Now? But Alistair, we have to keep watch –"

"There won't be any more darkspawn attacks tonight," he said decisively. His hand slid to the small of her back and Vivienne barely managed to bite back a moan, the heat of his touch through her thin linen tunic more than she could handle.

"But what about bandits? Desperate travelers? Loghain's men?"

"Not tonight." He stood and pulled her up with him, his jaw clenched stubbornly. "_Please_, Vivienne. Come with me."

She was frozen for a long moment, yearning and hunger warring with common sense. They should remain outside and fulfill their duties, the rational voice in her head argued, and return to this conversation at another time. Even as she struggled with her conscience, she knew that what she wanted, what she desperately needed, was to wrapped in his embrace that night.

Wetting her lips nervously, she squeezed his hand in assent. "Maybe… Maybe Princess can keep watch for a bit," she said murmured at last. "Not all night, but until we – that is, for as long as we –"

"That's right," he practically growled, taking her by the elbow and propelling her forward. "Princess is a good dog, aren't you, girl?" The dog whined in response. "We'll be back in a bit."

Vivienne's breath caught in her throat as Alistair all but pushed her into his tent and closed it behind him the flap behind him. He sank down to the bedroll slowly, reaching out to pull her against his chest. She burrowed in close immediately, exhaling slowly at the security she felt, surrounded by his solid, comforting bulk. Her hands were curious, questing beneath his shirt and stroking his broad expanse of chest, marveling at the feel of smooth flesh, rippling muscle, and a fine sprinkling of hairs. Steeling herself, she pulled the shirt over his head, exposing him completely, and laughing lightly when he flushed from the roots of his hair to his belly button, embarrassed at being so unceremoniously unclad.

"Vivi," he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. It was an intimate gesture, one that surprisingly made her heart beat a bit faster in her chest. "You want this, don't you?" His bravado was failing, but she could well understand his need for reassurance.

She inhaled sharply as his large hand coursed over the front of her shirt, grazing her breasts teasingly. "Alistair, yes," she choked out, arching into his touch. He caught the hint, groaning softly as her rounded flesh yielded beneath his grasp. "Touch me. I need it. I need _you._"

At her insistence, he cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt, massaging it slowly until she urged his fingers to her taut, stiffened nipple. "Yes," she hissed as he pinched it experimentally. She arched against him in delight, eyes falling shut as she relished the growing spark of pleasure pooling in her belly. "That's right, just like that." He tweaked the erect peak more firmly and was rewarded with low moan. "Alistair, that feels so good… _Mmph_!" He kissed her again, harder this time, delighting in the way she responded.

"Show me what to do," he said hoarsely, tugging down trousers and smallclothes in a swift motion and guiding her hand to his hardened cock. He shuddered as she stroked it, her hand instantly closing around the tumescent length. "Teach me how to love you, Vivienne."

She sat back on her haunches and regarded him, his face drawn and tense with nervousness. A wicked grin crossed her face as she pushed him down onto the bedroll and moved down until she hovered over his erection, eyes widening as she took in its size and girth. It was, she conceded, hand still stroking the velvety skin, quite magnificent, and her mouth watered as she caught sight of a few drops of precum glistening at the tip. Darting forward, she leaned in and licked, and their twin groans punctured the night's silence.

"Andraste's ass, Vivi," Alistair swore feverishly, hips bucking involuntarily as she wrapped a slender hand around the base of his cock and began to pump, lips still affixed to the tip. "I – I'm not going to…"

She was out of practice, and he was larger than she was used to accommodating, so she pulled back for a moment, her hands smoothing the mixture of saliva and precum over his throbbing member and pumping rhythmically. "Don't fight it," she said breathlessly. He was beautiful in tent's shadows, face contorted in pleasure, muscles rippling as he clenched and thrust into her hand, quickly becoming undone by her ministrations. She could feel his pulse beating within her hand and she knew he was close.

"Don't hold back," she begged and took him into her mouth once more, groaning around him when he fisted a hand in her hair and held her fast as he thrust once, twice, and then a third and final time before his whole body shuddered and his climax gave way. She drank down his seed greedily, swallowing as he spurted and pulsed into her mouth, his strangled cry of completion filling her ears. When he was emptied, he sagged back to the ground, groaning dully, his arms and legs like jelly.

"I…" He could barely manage more than a single word as she stretched out beside him, a smug smile on her face.

"Good?" she murmured softly, noting with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation that he was still half-hard.

"I think you're trying to _kill_ me, you little minx," he managed at last, moaning when she kissed him, their mingled flavors at first startling and then arousing him. "Maker's breath, Vivi, I've never felt anything like that." His hands traveled over her bare back and stomach, stopping at the waistband of her trousers.

"You're still dressed," he said in surprise.

"Any complaints?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously but fluttered shut when he touched the apex of her thighs, cupping her sex with his large hand. _"Alistair…"_

"I hardly think it's fair for you to be dressed when I'm laying here without a stitch," he admonished, fingers tugging insistently at the waistband. She shimmied free of the offending garments and kicked them away, hissing at the sudden skin-on-skin contact when he pulled her on top of him. He was fully roused, and from the intensity of his face, he wanted more. "I need to be in you, Vivienne."

"Sit up," she urged, and he obeyed without question, his hands secure around her waist. Biting her lower lip in concentration, she took hold of his cock in one hand and slowly lowered herself on top of him, gritting her teeth at the way he stretched her insides. Slowly, inch-by-inch, she enveloped him, shuddering when he finally filled her sopping pussy. She held herself still for a long moment as they adjusted to the fit, both breathing hard, bodies pressed together tightly. With a low moan, Vivienne began rock against him, hands braced on his shoulders to lift her hips before dropping back down again. He was kissing her fervently as they moved together, surging in an ebb and flow of pleasure that threatened to leave them both senseless.

It wasn't love, Vivienne kept trying to tell herself as she clung to him tightly, but as his hands caressed her bare skin tenderly, her name on his lips all the while, she couldn't help but feel her chest ache with an emotion that she didn't dare name.

Vivienne clenched her nether muscles around him spasmodically, her breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts as she felt her release creeping near. "Maker, Alistair, I'm so close," she whimpered, gasping as he thrust into her, hitting that perfect spot that would be her undoing.

It was his turn to urge her over the edge. "Don't hold back," he rasped. "Come for me, Vivienne."

She was bucking against him wildly now, rocking at a pace that could only be described as demanding and greedy. Her climax came upon her almost as a surprise and she screamed out in shock, her whole body trembling. Alistair followed not a moment later with a yell of his own, seed spurting within her depths two, three, four times before he at last sagged back, pulling her down onto the bedroll beside him, their bodies sweat-slicked and sore. Vivienne fought back a moan of protest when he slid his member free from her wet heat, but he pulled her close against her chest and settled against him quietly. His fingers wove through her short black hair and massaged her scalp slowly, comfortingly. She was half-asleep when he spoke.

"You're beautiful, you know." She blinked her eyes open to see Alistair gazing down upon her, a rather dreamy half-smile playing upon his lips.

"Flatterer," she retorted playfully.

"Really, Vivi. I'm serious." The smile turned into a smirk. "And you're _very _vocal."

She stared at him dumbly. "What? Me?"

"Mmm-hmm." He was looking unbelievably smug. "You screamed. My name, to be precise." Her face flushed at this and he chuckled. "Now everyone is going to know what we did."

Vivienne groaned, picturing the reactions of their companions. "The first person to gossip about this is getting fed to the darkspawn," she growled blackly.

"Riiiight. You know, you can be _very _scary when you want to be. Though even when you're scary, you're also very, very sexy," he added when she scowled at him. Her expression relaxed, however, when he gathered her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. "And now I'm going to have to figure out how I'm going to keep my hands off of you when there are people around."

"I'm not going to make it easy on you, ser," she informed him said impishly. She felt… _buoyant_. Cheerful. Happy. She couldn't remember the last time she had been happy, at least not beyond the simple pleasure of achieving a few hours of sleep after an exhausting day of travel and battle; this, perhaps, was something that she could get used to, something that she knew she had to cherish and treasure.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Her only response was a decidedly mischievous giggle. Bestowing a swift kiss on his lips, she wriggled free from his grasp and went in search of her clothes, tossing his garments over her shoulder as she hunted. He regarded them glumly.

"Duty calls," he sighed, throwing the tunic over his head. "When this is over, tell me we'll go off someplace quiet, with a real bed, and take the time to actually cuddle."

His tone was light, but she heard his deeper meaning. _If we survive this Blight… _She squelched any misgivings she may have had about love and feelings and _commitment_, and smiled instead. "Yes," she murmured softly. "As soon as we're finished, I promise we'll do that."

-ooo-

A deep rumble sounded in the distance, and Vivienne was torn from her reverie. _Ogre, perhaps_, she thought to herself. Tucking the figurine into her pack, she slid her sword from its sheathe. Squaring her shoulders, she set off in search of her next foe.


End file.
